


A Matter of Time

by digitalScribbler, pepperdot



Series: Crossed Threads [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon, Canon, Gangs, Gen, Job Interview, Magic, Phone Call, both of them are on their best behavior, damien considers trying to kill his boss yet again, is mac a wizard? who knows, it doesn't entirely help, it's basically a job interview, mac being an ass to his employees, mac makes an offer, mac's moving foxden, metahuman, nonbinary characters - Freeform, pretty much exactly what you'd expect, sarcastic back-and-forths, superhero, the jackeyes, the price brothers, victor is a broke millennial, victor is a little shit about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalScribbler/pseuds/digitalScribbler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperdot/pseuds/pepperdot
Summary: Victor has been staring at the slip of paper for minutes that feel like hours, leaning on their elbows over the desk with their phone in the other hand. The number is dialed in. All he has to do is hit call.---It’s possible that Mac is going to say something else, but right as he inhales something stops him. His right hand flexes, as though something has curled around his wrist. A split-second later there’s a muffled buzzing from the far right of the desk, on the edge closest to the strange bookshelves.Or, Victor finally calls Mac, and Mac makes him an offer.
Series: Crossed Threads [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175429
Kudos: 1
Collections: Canon, Price Brothers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of an actual back-and-forth RP between me (digitalScribbler) and pepperdot, so everything written for Victor was done by me and everything for Mac/the Jackeyes done by pepperdot back and forth in real time. 
> 
> Here's some brief info to make your reading less confusing:
> 
> Victor works for-hire in the criminal Underground using an app called Underworld, which is sort of like villain Uber. After completing a particularly lucrative off the books job with time to spare, he finds out he was being watched when Siobhan finds him in an alleyway. Their strong powers, glowing work history, and general competence have caught the eye of a mysterious gang, and she gives him Mac's number to call about further work with them, in addition to a ridiculous amount of money for his time.
> 
> We're splitting up the RP into two chapters for formatting, but originally this was all one large piece, so make sure you read both for the full story!

Victor is woken up by the midday sun streaming across his face, one arm already instinctively across his eyes to block out the glare. He lets out a low groan and turns away from the sun. _It would be so easy to just go back to sleep,_ they think, keeping their eyes firmly shut. _Just to go back to sleep and ignore everything._ But their muscles and burns ache from the night before, their joints feel stiff, and they never actually changed. They need a stretch and a shower... and breakfast, they realize, hearing their stomach grumble in complaint. 

He turns over and reaches for where his phone on the bedside table with a resigned sigh. The way-too-dim screen is still set for the dark of night, but they can faintly make out '1:45' blinking in large numbers. _Already slept away half the day,_ he thinks, with a sharp exhale that could almost be a laugh. He slowly pushes himself up and stretches with a big yawn, leaning back and almost looking like he'd fall back onto the mattress. They ruffle their now-tangled hair a bit, blinking what sleep might be left out of their eyes, and get up to start the day. 

As Victor heads to the bathroom, however, the pile of green on their desk catches their eye. The payment from last night, and the white scrap practically burning a hole in between, lays on the desk where he had tossed it in the early morning. He pauses for a moment, the events of the night before starting to run in his head again. He feels a tug, furrows his brow, and turns back towards the bathroom.

\-----

Foxden is usually quiet in the afternoons. Only the most permanent denizens are lingering in its hallways, clustered together like they don’t want to scatter into the most distant hallways. Still, it’s too close to lunch for anyone to bicker, and it’s mostly peaceful.

Mac’s office is more crowded than usual. Damien and Kamala are hunched over a pile of papers and maps scattered across the floor. Damien is making marks with a red pen, strange scatterings along the river, and Kamala is watching with careful eyes. Every once in a while, she says something quiet, and Damien will mark something else with a green pen. 

Siobhan is sprawled in the only other chair currently in the office, directly in front of Mac’s desk. She’s flipping through papers, holding them up to the light as though she can see something that isn’t there, and then either replacing them on the desk or systematically shredding them. Every once in a while, she grimaces and passes a sheet over to Damien, who mutters a curse and begins carefully applying white-out to the red marks. 

Mac is sitting at his desk, possibly has been for the past week, tracing something onto a notepad with a carefully steady hand. Whenever he finishes a page, there’s an odd dip in the temperature in the room that lingers for a long handful of minutes before fading. He’ll hand it over to Siobhan, who will pause in what she is shredding to squint and compare it to the pages she has already replaced on the desk. This seems to have been happening for some time now, but there’s a pressing sense of urgency that keeps all of the Jackeyes ducked low over their work.

\-----

Usually Victor loves showers. He finds them centering. It's easy to let your mind slip away with the water, to just be for a moment. But as nice as a morning shower would usually be, Victor's thoughts keep jumping back to the white paper, swirling with the steam and the water rushing down the drain. They have no clue how long they stand under the shower-head pondering their options, and barely even register it when their hand almost on its own shuts off the water and grabs a towel. 

_It... wouldn't hurt to call, would it?_ Calling a random number you got of the street seems pretty dumb, but it's not like any of their normal gigs are any less shady. _And it's not like they can track me down if I say no._ He pauses mid-towel at that thought, the corner of his eye glancing to the foggy mirror. Just to check nothing was looking back. Who knows what that gang could do considering their whole 'sinking into the shadows' BS.

\-----

At some point, Mac finally puts down his pen and peels off his gloves. The embroidery criss-crossing across their wrists is still fully intact, and there’s clear irritation at the fact written across his face. 

Damien glances over when the pen clinks to the table, then reads the expression and silently turns his head right back to the maps. He and Kamala make eye contact, and she somehow manages to make it clear she’s laughing at him without twitching her expression at all. He scowls at her, secure in the knowledge that Mac can’t see his face, and rolls his eyes. There’s the tiniest crinkle at the corner of her eyes in response, and then she steals the green pen to start making additions herself.

Siobhan, eternally immune to whatever is stuck on Mac’s face this time, just looks over at him. He’s studying the stack in front of Siobhan for one heartbeat, three, five, and then suddenly seems to collect himself again.

“What did you find?” His tone is terse and somehow manages to make the question flat. Siobhan returns to examining pages, leaving the other two to answer.

“Same pattern as last time,” Damien says immediately, then grimaces back at the maps. “Doesn’t make much sense, scattered mostly around the river. Nothing that implies large-scale warding.”

“Spread further towards the docks,” Kamala adds quietly, something thoughtful on her face. Damien nods his agreement at her, then turns fully to Mac.

“They’re put up around uptown more frequently too, but only around the areas we knew about already. Zee noticed them too, last time he and Zig went out.”

That seems to get Mac’s attention, and he flicks his gaze over to Kamala. She climbs to her feet, adjusting her sleeves.

“Both of them?” she asks, and Mac shakes his head.

“Just Zee.” 

The answer makes Kamala’s eyebrows go up, and she inclines her head at Mac as if to ask if he’s sure. He stares back blankly, and she makes the very careful point to roll her eyes at him before turning on her heel and stepping into the shadows pooled at the corner of the room. Siobhan makes a sound that might be a laugh, and Mac shoots her a glare that seems more perfunctory than genuine. 

Damien, polite only because Siobhan really is his favorite and she’s clearly been enjoying desk work for once, turns back to the maps to roll his own eyes.

\-----

Victor is staring down the stack of bills from across the room. They'd managed to comb out the tangled rats nest that had been their hair and pull on a t-shirt and sweats, and now stand sipping instant coffee on one side of their studio apartment. They drum their hand on the countertop a few times, trying to look anywhere else other than that unavoidable, inescapable corner of their room, and fail. 

The curiosity that had tugged at them earlier is now more like a nagging pull, keeping their eye flicking back to the desk almost every other heartbeat. After a few more agonizing minutes of avoidance and Victor starting to regret starting the day with coffee and nothing else, he starts thinking he can't hold out any more, until.

"Ugh, fuck it."

In only a few steps he crosses the room and his mug of coffee is on the corner of the desk, leaving yet another ring-shaped stain to the desk's ever-growing collection. He leafs through the packet of bills, looking for the slip and also mentally counting up the payment. They knew it was a lot, but _Jesus_ , this is way too much money. The woman in the alley said no strings, but Victor still feels uneasy about the whole thing. 

He pulls out the paper with the scribbled number on it and considers it carefully, finally able to see it in the sun. The numbers are as elegant as ever, but the symbol at the bottom of the page almost seems to shiver as he moves it in the light... but that's probably just the fatigue. Right?

\-----

Now it’s just the three of them in the office, and Mac nods at the paper in Siobhan’s hand. 

“Anything?” he prompts, and she lifts one broad shoulder into a shrug. 

“Not the same as those,” she says, gravelly and slow, with a wave towards the small stack of papers on the desk. Mac exhales, leaning back in his chair. 

“And these are from the same place as last time,” Mac says shortly, and only the fact that he glances towards Damien gives away that it could be a question. 

Damien turns back around like he can feel the eyes drilling into the back of his skull, and resists the urge to say something snide.

“Same place,” he agrees instead, only a little impatient. “Within twenty feet of each other. It was under that billboard on 60th.” 

Mac’s eyebrows twitch upwards. “And what were you doing under a billboard on 60th?” The silent _there is literally nothing good on 60th, that’s wildly far from our borders, you’re a fucking idiot and if Queen’s Lace murders you over it I won’t come to your funeral_ rings loud and clear.

Mac’s tone is flat, but Damien can hear the needles folded under that, sharp and amused. And so he just frowns, unimpressed, and tries to figure out if the question was rhetorical. Mac stares back, either because bothering Damien is the only entertainment in the office currently—Siobhan can and will bite a hole into the desk, options are limited—or because for some reason he’s decided the answer is actually relevant. 

Damien, briefly, wonders if he could pull of unionizing the Jackeyes just to avoid this for the rest of his life. Then he sighs, turns back to mark something off on the map. 

“There’s a good coffeeshop around there,” he says delicately to the papers, trying not to sound too resigned. He knows he’s failed when Siobhan barks an actual laugh, loud and genuine and only a little like she knows a secret, and he can’t feel too resentful with that.

\-----

Victor has been staring at the slip of paper for minutes that feel like hours, leaning on their elbows over the desk with their phone in the other hand. The number is dialed in. All he has to do is hit call. _It's that easy. Just call and then you'll never have to think about it again._ But something still doesn't quite sit right. 

They look over at the phone, then back at the paper, then up at the plants sitting in their desktop greenhouse, as if something would come out of the leaves and tell them what to do. When inevitably nothing does, Victor just huffs and grits their teeth. 

"God, this better be the right choice."

His thumb hits the call button, and he lifts the phone to his ear as it begins to ring. 

Just out of sight, the three dots of the scribbled sigil all blink at once.

\-----

It’s possible that Mac is going to say something else, but right as he inhales something stops him. His right hand flexes, as though something has curled around his wrist. A split-second later there’s a muffled buzzing from the far right of the desk, on the edge closest to the strange bookshelves. There’s three phones lined up side-to-side there, each of them equally unremarkable, and the second one is ringing. Damien has never seen the third one so much as twitch. 

Mac doesn’t even glance at the phone, just sweeps his gaze over the two Jackeyes. 

“Be back in an hour.” The dismissal is clear, and Siobhan sets the paper down before hauling herself up. She raps her knuckles against the desk in something like a friendly goodbye, and waits for Damien to get off the floor. 

“Tell Zee to stay in-house until I’m done. Send him in first,” Mac adds, eyes on Damien as though he knows the responsibility will fall to the witch. 

Damien just nods and, after glancing at the second phone with restrained curiosity, ducks out of the office. He’ll take a free lunch break. Siobhan follows like an enormous shadow, and shuts the door quietly behind her.

Mac has the phone in hand already, but he doesn’t pick up immediately. He turns and shifts one of the papers on the wall instead, revealing a hole on the wallpaper and the many, many converging lines that meet there under it. There’s a slight gap in one of them, an inch of empty space and Mac reaches up with a practiced hand to trace over it. 

Black ink seems to seep out of his fingertips, leaving more untouched skin than usual to connect that final circle, and there’s an electric crackle- _snap_ throughout the room—further, almost, if the shudder that runs through Siobhan and Damien down the hall goes to show. Like a rubber band snapping around a container, squeezing so tight that nothing else can slip through.

Mac wonders, absently, if one of the others will think to tell Kamala she’ll need to walk most of the way back to Foxden. 

And then he picks up the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying this, feel free to check out the pieces in the rest of the collection (after you finish this one, of course)! There's tons more about Mac, Victor, Damien, Siobhan, Kamala, and Co. there, and tons more in store!
> 
> And now, on to the phone call itself! With these two, first contact could go very well or very, very poorly...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We don't hand out that name too easily. But you're still on the phone, so I'm assuming you're at least considering." Mac seems done with his own game, possibly satisfied with the results—possibly just willing to let it go. Possibly neither of those things. "We're the Jackeyes. And, as I mentioned, we're looking for someone with your skillset."_
> 
> In which we finally get to the phone call, and it goes, well... you'll see.

“Vice,” Mac greets, like that’s normal to know. He’s rotating his wrist as though he still can’t quite shake off whatever is twisting there. Or whatever is blinking its three eyes, pointed like it’s passing on a message.

Victor starts at hearing his name. Well, alias, but still. 

"That's me," they reply, leaning further forwards over the desk and trying not to sound shaken. "I was told to call."

Mac sets the phone down on the table, habitually on speaker to keep it away from his face. He tugs the stack of papers closer, and pulls the only two actual fliers—blue, crinkled, cheerfully reporting a book club meeting soon—out of the mix. He sets them side by side, reaching to pull his gloves on. 

"Siobhan said you would," he comments after a moment, scrutinizing the fliers. "She liked your methods. It's not easy getting a recommendation from her." He leaves it there, curious to see how Vice will fill the hanging silence.

 _Siobhan... that had to be the woman with the scars._ Victor thinks back to her comments in the alleyway - so that was a recommendation, huh? She certainly seemed hard to appeal to. It was almost flattering to hear they made such a good impression on her. 

"She seemed to say that when we spoke, yeah. I'm sure it was a glowing review." There was just an edge of light sarcasm. "I'm assuming you're the one in charge of hiring, then?"

Mac drags his gaze over the two fliers with the air of someone who's done this exact same thing a couple thousand times in the past few days, and it's starting to irritate him that they haven't just broken down and spilled their secrets.

But that's fine. He's patient. 

"Something like that," he agrees. He notes the tone, wryly wonders if Siobhan passed him this one just for kicks, and makes a vague effort to actually focus on the phonecall. "And you're calling, which leads me to think you're open to the idea."

"I'm not quite clear on what the 'idea' is, exactly, but I'm open to hearing more." Victor says, shifting back from the desk and stretching one arm behind his head. 

And he was telling the truth - the curiosity as to what exactly this group wanted with him had been eating away since last night, and so far there hadn't been any inklings of an answer.

Mac leans back in his seat, eyes wandering back to the fliers once more. He just knows something's missing, that there's a single piece of the puzzle that will make it _click_. He wants nothing more than to tug and tear at it until he figures all the edges out.

But he also knows that he is actually responsible for hiring. And Siobhan liked this option— _Vice_ , and Mac can begrudgingly appreciate honest drama, and can doubly appreciate anything that isn't 'North & South'—for whatever reason. 

And, a little bit deeper, there's a different needling curiosity. _No birthday. No relations. One connection. An address. No work history outside of Underworld. Sprung to life fully formed in Southside, like they'd always been there._

And, maybe more important than any of that.... _Corrosion._ Rare, damaging, and a shade different to anything Mac had seen on the streets. Mac's familiar with greed, keeps it around like an old friend, and it's blinking its three sharp eyes at him.

"It's not a complicated one," he says instead of any of that, and keeps his tone mild. "We need certain jobs done. You did... Well beyond expectations last night." He pauses, rolling Siobhan's short summary around his mind. "I can appreciate that. And I imagine you can appreciate steady work."

Victor smiles now - well, more of a sly grin. "So this is more of a freelance thing, then," they say, swinging into a slow pace across the floor. 

His feet dodge around a pair of shorts, a hoodie, a few wayward socks, all of which he kicks to the side of the room as he continues to speak with the man behind the phone, "An independent contractor kind of deal."

They roll that idea over in their head once or twice as if it had already been confirmed, pausing by the kitchen to lean their back against the counter and take in the room. Steady, lucrative work, And if this guy liked yesterday, a chance to fight a little fast and loose and get paid for their time? Not really something to scoff at, that's for sure. 

"That seems... tempting." _Very, very tempting_. But he's not quite sure about picking up long-term work with a shady group he barely knows. Don't want them turning him in or anything to save their own hides if it gets rough, and he grimaces a bit at the thought. 

"But I've never worked with you before last night, I don't think, and I don't even know who you guys are." It sounds like a statement, but lingers in the air like a question.

“You’ve worked with us a few times, actually,” Mac dismisses almost immediately, like he made sure of it. “Sharing actual names through Underworld is a poor choice, so we don't tend to publicize that fact.” He pauses, like he’s thinking about something, and then adds in the same perfectly mild tone. “But you would know that, of course. You’ve done a good job keeping your name off any books.” 

_Generally speaking,_ Mac added silently. The right people just hadn’t looked hard enough yet. 

He’s remembering why he sent Siobhan for this one. 

“How familiar are you with Southside organizations?” Mac asks instead of offering an actual answer, and he could be genuinely curious.

Victor makes a vague 'that's fair' noise at the first comment, but the second half gives them pause. He knew a guy like this would do his research, but someone actually digging to try and find his real name could turn up all sorts of things he didn't want coming back up. 

Victor, for a very rare moment, is actually relieved they'd stayed so under the radar the past two years. 

At this point the conversation was starting to feel more like an interview, and they instinctively straighten up from their lean a little bit. "Enough to do my job. I work a little all over, though you probably know that. So it's mostly just what to watch out for to stay away from, or where I know I can make some good money." 

They think for a second, trying to remember specific groups they've done work for in the past. "Dead Crows I know, if that means anything to you. Think they're Southside, though I could be wrong."

Mac peels his left glove free, picking up a pen and beginning to sketch out the separate components of the flier's symbols. He's copying them out individually, breaking it into a scattering of disjointed runes and spirals. The last sentence makes him stop halfway through a particularly neat circle, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“You’re unfortunately right,” he says, and there’s a dry edge to the words. 

Sometimes, the tiniest part of him regrets the decision to keep Foxden tucked away from prying eyes and ears. It was the better choice, it’s pulled them through long vicious years, made them strong enough to claw upwards and branch out like hungry weeds. But he’s not above acknowledging that the idea of the Dead Crows—fucking _Dead Crows,_ and this is why Tomas was always the weakest link—are somehow the more notable group in Southside—

Mac lets it go. Instead he scribbles a note into the margins that maybe the twins can go wreck some havoc tomorrow. Tomas likes them too much to kill them anyway, so it’ll be a win-win for everyone involved. 

“That’s good,” he continues, only a half-beat late. “You’re in the right area. The Dead Crows border us, and we collaborate with them—“ The words come out begrudging, but they do come out, “—as necessary.”

He’s tapping his pen against the notepad now, thoughtful. It takes another second to pick out how much he wants to share, and he does so slowly.

“It’s convenient that you’ve worked with them. They’re one of the bigger groups in Southside, and they run a flashier operation than we do.” Mac considers that, decides it’s close enough to the truth to let stand, and continues, “But we function in a similar way. You could even call us a sister organization, if you’d like.” That one’s a lie, but only for this week. Mac’s pretty sure they’ll be back on good terms by Tuesday. “Just under a different name, of course."

"We don't hand _out_ that name too easily. But you're still on the phone, so I'm assuming you're at least considering." Mac seems done with his own game, possibly satisfied with the results—possibly just willing to let it go. Possibly neither of those things. "We're the Jackeyes. And, as I mentioned, we're looking for someone with your skillset."

"Well, then, Mr. Jackeye, since you've entrusted me with the knowledge of who I'm actually talking to, I'm much more interested in your offer," he says, just a hint of playful snark inching past his professional interview tone. _Whoops._

 _The Jackeyes._ One of the better gang names in the city, if Victor is being honest. Snappy, with just the right amount of intimidation and mystery. The man on the phone seems less than happy with the Dead Crows, though, despite calling them a 'sister organization'. _God, gang politics are exhausting. It's so much easier to not pick a side, stay on the edges and play every angle. Aligning like this would mean cutting off all that other work by association..._ He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, settling back against the counter with a sigh. _The Jackeye's intentions seem pretty straightforward, though._

"I'll seriously consider it. When would you need to know by?"

Mac’s eyebrows go up ever so slightly at the ‘Mr. Jackeye,’ and he spares a single moment to be grateful that the twins haven’t heard it. Then he collects himself, shifts up imperceptibly in his chair.

“Take the week,” Mac says, and it’s not clear if he’s suggesting or allowing it. He’s about to add something else, but—

The fliers are different, and his eyes immediately dart to them. For a split second those runes flicker silver, so fast that he could’ve missed it. Mac’s leaning over them in an instant, scribbling something urgent on the corner of the flier closest and reaching for the next.

He doesn’t draw _cancellation_ in time for that one. Foxden’s wards—his wards—protective and shining and unyielding, currently fully raised and buzzing like a whisper at the back of his skull, snap up the unfamiliar magic and tear it to shreds. He’s left with the one flier, slightly singed at the edges, and a pile of ash from the second. And an unfortunate amount of smoke, which he waves away with a quiet curse.

“This same number will work,” he says over the line, just barely keeping the snap out of his voice, “I’m delighted to hear about your interest. Make sure to give it the appropriate amount of thought—we’re not the only ones looking.” And there’s a little bit of something sharper there, this time.

Victor nods, even though the man can't see it. He hears a bit of a rustle, a slight sizzle and something that sounds like a muffled, cut-off mutter of something. "Everything good over there?" they ask without really expecting an answer, both curious and entertained by whatever seems to be interrupting the interview. _If you can call this an interview._

Victor pushes himself up from the counter and wanders back to the desk and the crumpled paper with the numbers, picking it up as he continues. "A week should be more than enough time. You'll hear from me then... unless someone else gives me a better offer," he adds jokingly, tossing the Jackeye's remark back to him with just an edge of seriousness. 

_After all, it's starting to seem like a buyers market with the amount of times people warned them about 'not being the only ones looking'._

Mac, predictably, simply ignores the first part. He pulls the remaining flier closer, examining it with renewed irritation—but also, just as insistent on the tip of his tongue, a new sense of interest. The burning was unfortunate, but the fact that it happened at all....

Maybe some of the pieces were coming together after all.

"Not everyone will be interested in _offering_ very much." Mac's tone has fully melted back into something mild, almost amused. "And none of the ones that _do_ have better offers than mine, I can guarantee that much." He leans back in his seat, eyes glued to the flier, and reaches to pick up the phone.

"I'd be careful if I were you. And don't be late with the call." 

And then he clicks the end button.

\-----

Victor is about to reply, 'I won't be' when he hears the other end of the line click and go dead. _Rude._ They hold the phone for a moment, almost like they're waiting for the line to pick back up. It doesn't. They just sigh and set it gently face down. 

He looks back to the slip of paper in their hands, trying to figure out a place to put it so he won't lose it. He settles on pinning it to the wall by the greenhouse. It looks oddly at home there, nestled among a few cards for maintenance and repair services, the landlord's number, and a crinkled old scrap of lined paper with an address on it. Victor steps back and picks up their now-cold coffee, considering the wall with a sip.

 _'I'd be careful if I were you'_ rings in their ears on repeat, the man's low, even voice still sharp in Victor's head. 

_I can take care of myself, thanks very much,_ they think almost in response, flexing their arms a bit and hearing the subtle click of machinery shifting, _That's for damn sure._

\-----

Mac sets the phone aside thoughtlessly, eyes still caught on the flier. He's reaching for the fine script with stained fingers, left glove forgotten, and only remembers to stop himself a few centimeters from the paper. There's a beat where he stays there, fingers twitching like he wants to dig into the symbols anyway. And then he exhales, puts the flier down entirely. 

With careful motions, the phone is put back to the proper corner. He pushes the flier away again, and instead pulls a file closer to flick open and read through. 

_Vice,_ he thinks, and clicks his focus back to the conversation instead. The file sits open and too empty, almost mocking with all its blank space. Mac considers, for a moment, if there's anything new to add after their conversation. 

_Efficient. Worked with Dead Crows. Operates purely neutral._ He pauses, tapping the pen to the paper as he mulls it over. They’d suspected most of this, but confirmations—at least as far as the Dead Crows and absence of any other backdoor dealings—were always convenient. 

There was something nagging at the back of Mac’s skull. He can’t quite piece the words together, can’t say which part of the conversation is gnawing at him, but he knows better than to ignore it. The pen keeps tapping and, after a long beat, he adds a final note before flipping the folder shut. 

He has an increasingly nagging suspicion about why Siobhan liked this one. And he can’t even blame her for it, because she’s absolutely right. 

_Six days,_ he bets against himself, instead of dwelling on exactly how smug Siobhan probably is, and slides to file back into its slot. He pulls the gloves back on fully, adjusts them. _And if I'm wrong, all the better._

And with that, he finally returns to the flier. At the very least, there's one mystery here that he can drag to the surface tonight. 

The other is only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all they wrote, folks!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little collaboration between the two of us. It was super fun and there's WAY more canon content to come, so get excited!
> 
> If you liked that, check out our collections - there are tons more pieces about this lovely chaotic gang and their story, both canon and otherwise.


End file.
